Friday, November 27, 2015


If you asked me this morning if I wanted to get married, I would have not only said yes but added in a garden carpeted with red and pink roses and we would have three beautiful children.
Just go ahead and ask now when I have washed my face; I will shout a hell no. 
there is no time to play wife. 
Working 8 to 5, living fifteen miles from my work place, there is no longer ample time to clean for him, cook for him or even make love to him.
Men will always be polygamous,
Isn't it ridiculous,
how our modern African society still embraces this school of thought,
even with the inflation, a man is still able to sustain three homes above poverty levels,
makes me wonder where the line cuts, our men can't settle for only one,
one is weakness,
two is normal,
but three;
three is optimal; his wife, his other woman, and the new one he will string along for a few weeks.
Maendeleo ya wanaume failed a long time ago
Whereas in 1990s women were empowered with education and free nominations to public offices,
alas the boy child was forgotten,
as the woman grew stronger,
the man grew not
and so Delilah beheld Samson eyes and blinded him,
beheld his manhood and crushed him,
beheld his stature but behold there was none!
such that a man today will not pay dowry upfront like the days of my father
as the clan will count my education, my career, my car, my house as success quantified as thousands of shillings
throwing him off the wagon with his same equal scores as mine.
So he will trick me into pregnancy and escape the wrath of dowry; the first allowable cheat!
My husband will successfully cheat.
This is not only because I have no time to master his behavioral pattern change,
but the economic development of my country has fueled this arena.
Nyumba kumi initiative will not help as his number two will be in flat number two and unlike the days of my mother, there is no society left to reprimand our immortality, no one knows the neighbor, more than that; the neighbor. 
So I know by now the judges will judge my poem as a judge for the cheaters, but am gonna bring it back.
It will simply not work.
Not because right were neither our vows nor intentions,
but because I am dating a married man,
and I have heard we reap what we sow,
and as guilt builds brick on brick,
I live in fear that I will not go unpunished
maybe now or tomorrow.
yet if you asked me if I will get ever get married, I will not just say yes but add it will be in a garden carpeted with red and pink roses and we would have three beautiful children.

The end 

NB/ This poem is not written to insinuate that all marriages have failed